Don't Leave Me
by Jazi Tsukiyo
Summary: It was so long ago - 234 years ago - but he still couldn't get over it. He supposed he never would. He'd continue to sit on that bench, wallowing in his sorrows.


_Why did you leave me?_

It was a gloomy day. Raining, as it usually did. But today the rain was a tad different. As if the sky was crying harder than it normally did. As if… the sky was trying to rid itself of all the sorrows of the world.

Arthur sat alone on a bench with no protection from the rain. He was soaked but it mattered not to him. His mind was a thousand miles away – _years_ away – constantly replaying that terrible day 234 years ago. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the rain that continuously poured from the sky with no end in sight.

He just sat there, not moving – despite his heavy drinking just a few moments ago – just sitting, staring at the wet gray cement.

_Why did you leave me? Why…?_

A flash of lightning lit the sky followed by the loud grumble of thunder. The storm was getting worse. Were there really this many sorrows in the world? Was the world full of sorrows? He smiled, a bitter empty smile. Of course it was. The world was full of sorrows. The sky just bottled it up until it couldn't take it anymore. Just like him.

Lightning flashed and thunder roared. Arthur's smile faded. The memories rushed back with a vengeance. It was raining that day too.

Would the pain ever end?

_Will the pain of losing you ever end?_

-

"Arthur? Yo~ Arthur~ You there?" Alfred waved a hand in front of the Brit's face, which he swat away in annoyance.

"What is it Alfred?" he asked in exasperation.

"You were spacing out," he huffed. "What's up?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Nothing. Let's get on with the meeting, shall we?

"Uh… alright."

As Alfred droned on about getting back at Japan or something of the sort Arthur stared at the table, not paying attention. It just wasn't important. His mind was 234 years away again, back to that dreaded day. Why did it have to be that way? Why? Sure they were still friends, but it wasn't the same. It would never be the same. All the times they spent together, everything he did for him, was it all for nothing.

"—thur. Arthur? What's wrong with you today?"

He looked up, snapping out of his reverie. "Nothing. I'm fine. Just… a little tired." He stood, gathered his things and swiftly left the room. Alfred stared at his retreating form, wondering if his former guardian was alright.

"Can you not see it?"

Alfred whipped around, coming face to face with Francis. "See what?"

He shook his head, a sad look clouding his eyes. "He's falling apart."

Alfred tilted his head a bit. "What?"

He sighed. "Just look closely and you will see it." He picked up his bag and left.

-

He sat there, at that same bench he sat yesterday. Staring at the gray cement, mind back 234 years ago. Why couldn't he stop thinking about it? It was so long ago, why couldn't he get over it like Alfred and Francis said? What's done is done; it's time to stop with this nonsense. But even as he told himself to stop all this, get up and go home, he couldn't. The memories wouldn't let him. The scars wouldn't let him. Throbbing painfully, memories flooding back, he felt a migraine coming on.

A drop, then another. It was raining. As always. Why was it always raining? Was England always sad? Were the skies over England continually sad?

The rain was coming down harder. He was completely soaked but paid no mind. He stopped caring long ago. Rain was something he grew accustomed to – but that didn't mean he liked it. The rain reflected his feelings, and it was a constant reminder of that day so long ago.

He was falling apart. Francis knew. Francis always knew. How, he didn't know. Nor did he care. It's wasn't as if Francis – or anyone for that matter – was going to help him. He had to suffer through this himself. With no one but himself. No one but—

"Arthur!"

He lifted his head slowly, not believing it was _his_ voice that had called out his name.

"Arthur! What are you doing here? It's pouring!" He held the red, white and blue umbrella over him in an attempt to stop the rain from crying all over him. Trying to catch his breath, he leaned on Arthur's shoulder. "Francis said you were falling apart, is everything alright?"

He looked away. "Yes… everything's fine," he whispered.

Alfred frowned. "No it's not – look at you! Come on, I'm taking you home."

"No—"

Before he could even finish his statement he was being carried on the American's back. Why was this happening? Why did he even care? Arthur resisted the urge to cry but felt the tears come anyway. Why was this happening? He gripped Alfred's shoulders tight, wanting to hold onto him forever yet wanting at the same time to make a break for it.

Alfred carried him all the way home, careful not to step in any puddles and such. Stepping inside, he walked up the stairs and, upon entering the Brit's room, placed him carefully on the bed. He turned to face him, sitting beside him.

Arthur rested his head on the American's shoulder, closing his eyes, not saying a word. He didn't have to say anything, Alfred was already figuring it out, it was all falling into place inside that blond head of his. Comfortable silence filled the room, something that hadn't occurred between the two in quite some time.

Arthur invited the silence with open arms, for as long as he was near Alfred, he realized, he'd be ok. So what if Alfred didn't need him anymore? As long as he was still there, that was what mattered. It was something he knew all along but didn't realize it. It was so obvious. Alfred gently placed a kiss atop the Brit's head whispering, "I still need you, you know. Just… not like I used to, ok?"

He smiled. That was all he needed to hear.

-

_**AN**__: The ending turned out kinda… eh. Sorry about that. Tell me what you think?_


End file.
